


Fuck Buddies With Benefits

by humanities_angstiest



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Butt Plugs, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Massage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pining Lance (Voltron), Power Bottom Keith (Voltron), Riding, Rimming, Stress Relief, don’t think too hard about the timeline, especially the microbio, fuck buddies to friends with benefits to lovers, honestly don’t think too hard about any of this, spoilers for Big Hero 6 and Moana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanities_angstiest/pseuds/humanities_angstiest
Summary: “Hey babe,” the blue-eyed male in Keith’s doorway drawls, leaning his weight on one arm and smirking down at Keith from the irritating two-inch height difference between them. The guy likes taking advantage of it while he can, before Keith shoves him onto the bed and is the one looking down for once.Keith rolls his eyes and steps aside to let Lance into his dorm room, locking the door behind them in case Shiro stops by to check on him. Shiro would likely not be impressed by Keith’s self-care methods if he found his baby cousin in bed with some guy he met at the bar, a blank document still waiting to be filled on his laptop screen.Or, Keith wants his fuck-buddy to help him relax when he’s too stressed to write his super important final paper. Lance wants his fuck-buddy to notice more than his dick so he can ask him out on a date.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo. This was a weird idea I wanted to get out of my system in 4000 words but then it spiraled into an 18,000+ monster. Oops.
> 
> Shout out to my wonderful beta-reader, haganenoheichou (bondageluvr). Thank you so much. You are phenomenal and I am eternally grateful for your help.

Keith knows he needs to write the research paper for his microbiology class. It is thirty percent of his grade, and even if it wasn’t, he needs Professor Iverson to write him a recommendation letter for a summer internship he is applying for. The only way he can get a decent recommendation from the stern professor is if his research paper impresses him.

Time — a human-made construct that shouldn’t be terrifying since it’s _made up_ — is ticking.

A month.

Three weeks.

Two weeks.

Twelve days.

The fifteen-page paper is due in twelve goddamn days and Keith has one paragraph written. He knows he should have started it, or at least crafted an outline, last month. Shiro says the pressure he’s placing on himself is paralyzing him. He _knows_.

And he’s been handling the pressure in the best way he’s found to work for him so far.

Masturbating.

Lots and lots of wanking. When Keith can’t focus his mind or can’t find the words to write because he doesn’t know what he’s writing. When he thinks he’s wasted five minutes staring at his laptop and is surprised to learn it has actually been an hour. When everything is too much because he’s done too little. That’s when Keith buries the stress deep in his mind like a time capsule that will eventually be unearthed and finds relief in half an hour of touching himself. Half an hour for every few hours he spends tugging on his hair, eyes burning from staring at his screen for too long, hoping the paper will write itself.

Masturbating has always worked before, until it stopped working last week. Keith couldn’t get hard. He’d tug and twist and rub, but his dick remained stubbornly flaccid.

Those were dark days. Keith had no pleasure to take his mind off his looming deadline. Which, arguably, was a good thing. There was no point in procrastinating with good ole masturbation if he wasn’t getting anything out of it.

But that’s the remarkable thing about procrastinating; you’ll do anything besides working. You might watch a C-rated movie that you’d sneer at on any other day but in the moment, it is better than doing the Important Thing. So you watch it and try not to hate yourself too much for wasting time on something that isn’t even enjoyable.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and if Keith were in his right mind — not his numb-to-everything-but-stress mind — he wouldn’t have taken a stranger from the bar home for a one-night stand that turned into a two-night stand that turned into a booty call every time he tries to work on his paper. So pretty frequently. But Keith never hears a complaint from his partner.

“Hey babe,” the blue-eyed male in Keith’s doorway drawls, leaning his weight on one arm and smirking down at Keith from the irritating two-inch height difference between them. The guy likes taking advantage of it while he can, before Keith shoves him onto the bed and is the one looking down for once.

Keith rolls his eyes and steps aside to let Lance into his dorm room, locking the door behind them in case Shiro stops by to check on him. Shiro would likely not be impressed by Keith’s self-care methods if he found his baby cousin in bed with some guy he met at the bar, a blank document still waiting to be filled on his laptop screen.

“Couldn’t wait to have,” the brunet gestures at his body, “all this again?”

Keith manages not to roll his eyes a second time but he crosses his arms. “This is temporary. I’ll have no more need for you in twelve days.”

That wipes the confident smirk off Lance’s face. Guilt claws at Keith’s stomach at the look of hurt that appears in those navy blue eyes. This is why Keith doesn’t — under normal circumstances — do the whole fuck-buddy thing. After two times it becomes near impossible to maintain emotional distance. Or maybe Keith’s doing it wrong. He is spared from thinking of an apology by the return of Lance’s cocky grin.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Too much of a good thing, and all that.”

“Get undressed.” Keith wastes no time reaching his hand to the back collar of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He’s the one smirking now, never tiring of Lance staring at his muscled torso appreciatively, hungrily.

The taller male almost trips in his haste to kick off his boxers and jeans. He tosses his shirt to the far corner of the room and then positions himself on the bed with his back against the wall.

Lance opens the second drawer of the nightstand to grab a condom and the lube. The bottle is slippery, the contents inside coating the outside, but the momentary discomfort of wetness on his hand becomes irrelevant when he pours the substance on his palm and drags up and down his condom-covered cock until he is fully hard.

Keith climbs on the bed and there is nothing sensual in the way he clambers over Lance’s bent legs to position himself over the other’s lap.

“Hey, wait. Shouldn’t you—”

The rest of his words are lost as he sucks in a deep breath at the feeling of Keith sinking down until he bottoms out.

“I loosened myself up before you got here,” Keith explains, lifting himself up before dropping back down, quicker this time.

Lance doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what to _think_ of that other than ‘wow, that’s hot’. He couldn’t respond even if he knew what to say because Keith is bouncing in his lap at a brutal pace, making it near impossible for Lance to time his movements so he can rest his hands on Keith’s hips. He doesn’t hold on tight, knowing Keith will growl at him for attempting to slow his animalistic fucking, but Lance wants some form of contact, some intimacy to make this more than Keith repeatedly spearing himself on his cock. 

Keith’s features tense up before he goes boneless, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’. His dark eyelashes flutter before his eyes close as his orgasm overtakes him, and Lance comes watching him.

The room is filled with the sounds of their panting as they find their way back from their highs. Keith pushes at Lance’s knees so he can get off Lance’s lap and moves to his desk, tossing a wet-wipe at the darker-skinned male to wipe the cum off his chest. Keith doesn’t apologize for the mess he made and Lance doesn’t mind because he doesn’t mind the streaks of white marking him. Not at all.

Keith sits at his desk, completely naked, and Lance hears the clacking of keyboard keys.

“Um…" 

Keith glances behind him and has the decency to look apologetic. “Oh, uh…thanks. See you around?”

Lance doesn’t respond. He dresses quickly and slams the door behind him, leaning against it and listening, waiting for the chair to scrape against the pale grey tiled floor as Keith pushes back from the desk to come after him. All Lance hears is the damn clacking of those keys.

 

*

 

Lance hasn’t answered Keith’s texts in four days but that’s okay. Keith is handling the stress just fine on his own.

He convinces himself he works well under pressure. Coffee-fueled late nights — or early mornings? Technically 4am is morning, not night — are tons of fun.

There’s something about last minute work: the building headache behind his eyes from the too bright lights of his bedroom meant to keep him awake, the occasional shooting pain in his abdomen from the copious amounts of coffee and uncharted stress levels, the moment when he passes from feeling so tired he’ll fall asleep on his book to wide-awake and ready to pull an all-nighter. It’s great.

Keith’s masochistic tendencies aside, he is quickly approaching the edge of a mental breakdown. He can see it, a few steps ahead of him. With eight days to produce the best paper he has ever written in his three years of college, it’s a race to see who will be the victor: the honors student in him dragging him kicking and screaming to not only finish this paper but make it a masterpiece, or his rapidly increasing eagerness for the sweet release of death. You can’t fail if you’re dead, Keith’s mental instability reasons.

Keith sighs heavily because death isn’t an option, and rereads what is on his laptop screen, wondering if any of it makes sense.

 

*

 

“Shiro?" 

The bar is small and Lance can count the number of patrons on his two hands. It’s late afternoon on a Wednesday, a sad time for him to be at the bar, but his friend is here too so Lance feels slightly better. That feeling slips away when he walks closer and gets a better look at his friend.

Shiro is staring into his near empty beer glass, gravity pressing harder down on him than on Lance judging by the heaviness in his eyes, downward drag at the corners of his lips, and droop to his shoulders.

“Hey buddy…” Lance greets tentatively. He knows Shiro must feel down in the dumps sometimes, that’s only normal, but it still surprises him to see that Eternally Optimistic Shiro isn’t actually eternally optimistic.

Shiro doesn’t raise his drooping head, instead using minimal energy to turn his face only enough to see Lance.

“Hey, Lance.” Shiro manages a sincere smile before gravity shoves it down again.

“You alright?” Lance sits down in the high wooden swivel chair next to Shiro, rudely shooing away the approaching bartender but too concerned about his friend to care.

Shiro shuffles in his seat so he is sitting more upright. “I’m fine.”

Lance adopts the frown his mamá wears when she knows he’s lying. “You don’t look or sound fine.” Lightly, he nudges his elbow into Shiro’s arm. “Come on, tell ole Lance what the problem is.”

Shiro’s lips fight gravity to offer an appreciative smile and then he releases a heavy sigh, expelling the worry weighing him down.

“It’s my cousin. He is writing a paper for Professor Iverson,” Lance winces, having heard the sob stories from good students who failed his class, “and all the pressure he’s putting on himself is killing him. I want to help but he won’t talk to me. He hasn’t answered his phone in days.”

“You don’t think…?” Lance trails off and grimaces because fuck, Shiro is clearly worried, he doesn’t need Lance’s careless thoughts worrying him more.

Shiro shakes his head. “No, Keith wouldn’t. He’ll stop sleeping and eating and answering the phone, but I’ve known him since he was in diapers and he’s the type to battle his frustrations rather than let them drag him down.”

“Keith?” Lance manages a weak chuckle. “Hey, how many Keiths do you think are on this campus?”

Shiro shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think there are many people in our generation with that name. Why?”

“Oh, uh… I made a new, um… friend recently, named Keith.”

“Black hair, blueish eyes, blunt personality?”

“Uh, yeah.” _His eyes are actually more of a purple color_ , Lance thinks but doesn’t say.

Shiro swivels his chair to face Lance fully. “That’s him. Have you seen him recently? How is he?”

Lance thinks back to the last time he saw Keith, five days ago. There were dark bruises under his eyes but that isn’t uncommon for a college student towards the end of the semester. A pile of laundry grew higher each time Lance visited, but that isn’t an uncommon sight either.

“He’s fine? I think?”

Shiro sags in his seat. “He’s smart. He knows how to write a good paper. I wish he would relax a bit, this isn’t worth wrecking his health over. It’s only fall semester; he has plenty of time to find a summer internship, but he’s dead-set on getting this one with Professor Coran.” Shiro sighs heavily.

“I can check on him if you want.”

Lance’s eyes widen at the words that slipped out, reflected by Shiro’s own wide eyes before they crinkle at the corners.

“Thanks, Lance. You’re a good friend for offering, but I’ll be okay. I just wish I knew how he’s doing, if he’s ignoring me because he thinks I’m overbearing or if something is seriously wrong.”

Lance wonders if something is seriously wrong. Shiro is good at keeping a cool head. If even he is worried about his cousin’s wellbeing… Maybe Lance shouldn’t have ignored Keith’s texts.

“You know, it’s no trouble at all for me to stop by his room and check. Keith lives in my building anyway, so I’m not even going out of my way.”

“Are you sure?”

Lance can see the relief in Shiro’s eyes, clear as Caribbean water. “Absolutely. I’ll knock on his door tomorrow and let you know what happens.”

“Thanks, Lance. I really appreciate it.”

Lance waves off the unnecessary gratitude and signals to the bartender for a beer as he easily steers the conversation in a lighter direction. When they part ways for the evening, Lance is glad to see that his friend looks less despondent with the promise that he will check on Keith for him.

Lance has trouble falling asleep that night, kept awake by thoughts of Keith, and not the thoughts that kept him awake before he found the courage to walk up to the guy that night at the bar almost two weeks ago.

He’s still annoyed at how callously Keith treated him last time, but with the new knowledge he gained from Shiro about some big paper the guy’s been stressing over, Lance finds himself able to forgive Keith a little.

Or a lot, once he visits Keith the next afternoon.

“Keith? It’s Lance. You in there?”

Three solid knocks, a polite pause, and no response later, Lance mentally apologizes to all the students he’s about to annoy before he begins to continuously pound on the door. He’s not leaving until he gets a report for Shiro, and for himself if he’s being honest. The door opens quickly while he’s knocking and his hand falls into open space, barely missing Keith.

“Whoa.”

Keith’s hair is a greasy, tangled mess hanging limply in his face, and the bags under his eyes match the dark color of his hair. His loose, grey t-shirt has more wrinkles in it than Lance’s abuela’s face and has a small tear around where Keith’s ribs end. Through that tear, Lance can see a bloody cut. Black sweatpants hang low on his narrow hips and Lance can’t tell if the sweatpants are too big or Keith has gotten thinner. His cheeks do look a little sunken.

“You haven’t been answering your phone.” Keith sounds like he swallowed gravel.

 _I could say the same to you_ , Lance wants to retort, but holds his tongue. He’s not here to start a fight on Shiro’s behalf. Instead he says, “I’m here now.”

Lance trips as Keith drags him by his shirt collar into the room. Lance has a moment to think about how stretched out his shirt will be before his attention shifts to Keith’s shirt, flying across the room to land on the laundry pile which is now a small mountain.

“Whoa, wait a sec,” Lance says, holding his hands up to signal Keith to stop the strip show. “I—”

“Are we gonna fuck or what? I don’t have time for this, McClain.”

Keith’s narrow-eyed gaze is intimidating (and hot) but Lance holds his ground.

“How did you get that cut?” It’s probably the fifth question he should have asked, somewhere after the obvious _“Are you doing okay?”_ But with Keith’s bare chest directly in front of him, the crusted line of blood on otherwise pale skin steals his focus.

Keith looks down and stares at it before shrugging. “Don’t know.”

Keith returns his attention to Lance and stares at him hungrily as he positions his hands on his waistband, about to slip off his sweatpants. Lance rushes forward and wraps his hands around Keith’s, stilling him.

Keith growls and rips his hands out from under Lance’s hold. “What the fuck, Lance? Did you come here to fuck me or not?”

Lance stares worriedly at Keith, at the guy’s slightly trembling frame. “Are you okay?”

“I will be once you fuck me.”

Keith pushes past Lance and gets on his hands and knees on the bed. Without Lance interfering, he finally shoves his sweatpants down to his knees. Lance’s jaw drops open as Keith shamelessly spreads his legs, quickly coats two fingers in saliva, and reaches between his legs to wiggle his index finger into his hole.

Lance doesn’t know what to say as Keith hurriedly twists two fingers in. He doesn’t bother with a third and turns around while Lance continues to stand frozen by his desk.

“Well?” Keith says, clearly irritated and a bit hysteric if Lance is reading him right.

“Dude! You’re not even hard.” Lance stares at the cock hanging limply between Keith’s legs. Lance’s fingers scrape along his scalp as he brushes his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”

“Lance, it’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll get hard. Just, get over here. Okay? I need you.”

Lance would have loved to hear those last three words in different circumstances. Not now, with Keith kneeling before him on the bed, eyes wild and body shivering.

“Keith, you’re not fine. God, when was the last time you slept?”

Keith scrunches his brows together in thought but gives up quickly. “I don’t know, I’m sure I took a nap earlier.”

“Earlier as in today, or a few days ago?”

Keith doesn’t answer him, probably _can’t_ answer him. Lance doubts Keith knows what day it is.

“Come on, Lance. Come on.” Keith leans forward and grips the hem of Lance’s shirt, tugging to get him to move closer, but Lance stands rooted in place. He does not have a good report for Shiro.

“Keith, you need sleep and some food, not sex.”

“No!” Keith’s eyes widen and he scoots forward to the edge of the bed, closer to Lance. “No, I’m too stressed. Sex helps. Please, I need to finish this paper. Please, Lance." 

Lance has to shut his eyes. When he opens them again, Keith is still staring pleadingly at him, desperate for Lance to help. Looking at him, Lance is scared. There is franticness in his dull eyes, and a restless energy thrums through his beaten down body. It makes Lance think of a reanimated corpse, a dead body forced to move.

“Where’s your shower caddy?”

“What?” A spark of confusion lights in Keith’s eyes, burning through the hysteric haze; good, that’s progress.

“Your shower caddy. You’re going to go take a shower. Then we’ll talk about sex.”

Keith frowns, but the dangling offer of sex Lance waves in front of him must convince him it is worth his time to take a shower.

Keith glances at Lance on his way out the door and Lance shoos him onward, smiling all the while until the door clicks shut. Then Lance is darting around the room, finding clean bedsheets in Keith’s closet, remaking the bed, and tossing the dirty clothes and bedsheets into the hamper in the closet where they belong.

There is no food in Keith’s mini-fridge and Lance doesn’t trust that he’ll be let back in if he leaves to get food from his own room, so he dials Hunk. Once he explains the situation, minus all the details other than that he’s taking care of a friend who probably hasn’t eaten well in a while, Hunk promises to drop food off at the dorm room Lance specifies as soon as possible.

Shortly after he ends the call, Keith returns from his shower, eyes widening when he sees his clean room.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Keith mumbles, moving towards his dresser.

“Here,” Lance says, passing him the grey boxers and loose red tank top he pulled from Keith’s dresser, way ahead of him. Keith stares at the clothes before accepting them, his fingers brushing lightly against Lance’s and leaving tingles on olive skin.

Keith drops his towel to get dressed and Lance respectfully turns his head to the side even though Keith doesn’t care. When he is dressed, Keith clears his throat and Lance faces forward again.

“Aren’t you going to dry your hair?”

“Huh?”

Lance points at Keith’s long, wet strands of hair dripping water onto his tank top, then sighs when Keith makes no move to do anything about it.

“Sit down.”

Keith glares to signal to Lance that he doesn’t appreciate being ordered around, as if Lance isn’t well aware of that fact already. Whether from weariness or something else, Keith follows Lance’s order and sits on the edge of the bed. 

Lance retrieves the towel Keith dropped and sits behind him. He lays the towel over Keith’s head and gently rubs it in circles, then wraps it around the long strands and squeezes to wring them of water.

“Do you have a comb?” 

Keith points tiredly to the shower caddy resting in the corner. Lance spots the red comb and grabs it, hopping back on the bed behind Keith who remains silent as Lance delicately drags the comb through black strands, undoing tangles. He finishes combing through the last tangle when there is a knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Lance shoots up from the bed, dropping the comb back in the caddy on his way to the door.

“Hunk, you’re the best. Thanks, man.” Hunk passes the picnic basket into Lance’s grabby hands.

Hunk looks over Lance’s shoulder and recognizes the curious violet eyes staring back at him. Understanding hits and Hunk grins widely at Lance, a friendly grin to the eyes of anyone but his best friend, who glares and hisses, “I’ll explain later,” before shutting the door in Hunk’s face.

“Who was that?”

Lance ignores the question and sets the picnic basket between him and Keith on the bed. He unfastens the latch and opens the lid. Inside are two of each, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, bag of chips, chocolate chip cookie, and Capri-Sun.

Keith stares hungrily at the food as Lance lays it out in front of him, but he forces himself to look at his laptop. He managed to write five pages over the past few days but ten pages remain to be written.

Lance shoves a sandwich into his hands and Keith holds it, looking down at it and mentally calculating how many hours remain for him to write his paper, how much time he needs to edit it, and how much time eating this sandwich will cut into that time.

“Keith. Eat the sandwich.” Lance is frowning at him in mild exasperation but his eyes scream concern.

Keith drops the sandwich and quickly stands up, backing away from Lance. “What are you doing here?”

“Keith—”

“No. Why did you come here? You ignored my texts for days and suddenly you show up, but not for sex. You tell me to take a shower while you clean my room, and then you have someone deliver food? Why—”

Keith cuts himself off, eyes going wide with understanding. “Shiro sent you.”

That’s the only explanation. He thought it was Shiro knocking on his door earlier, finally come to check on him since he’d been ignoring his texts. He doesn’t know how Lance knows Shiro, but why else would Lance show up at his door, if not for sex?

“He’s worried about you.”

Keith glares at Lance, though he knows it’s not Lance’s fault his cousin is overprotective.

“Tell him not to be. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Keith!” The hysterical note in Lance’s voice startles Keith. “You’re not. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Keith turns his head to look at the small mirror on his closet door. Alright, Lance has a point. Even after his shower he doesn’t look too good. Dark bruises form half circles under his bloodshot eyes and his creamy skin now resembles the ashen color of the dead. If this is what he looks like now, he can’t imagine what he must have looked like when Lance first arrived.

He releases a heavy sigh and runs his hand through his detangled hair. “I get it, I do. But I need to finish this paper. It’s due in less than six days and I have ten pages left to write. Tell Shiro I’ll call him next week, but I don’t have time to spare talking to him until I finish.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “But you have time for sex?”

Keith crosses his arms defensively. “It helps me de-stress so I can focus on my paper.”

“Uh-huh. You know another good way to de-stress? Taking a break and eating some food.”

Keith’s eyes dart to the food then to his bare feet, contemplating.

“Keith Kogane. Sit the fuck down and eat this food my friend brought us.”

Keith hesitates an instant more before giving in and sitting back down on the bed. Lance smiles and passes him a Capri-Sun.

The sandwich is perfect, just the way Keith likes it. You wouldn’t think a person could ruin a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but some people don’t spread the peanut butter and jelly to the edges and then Keith ends up with a bland mouthful of bread.

He eats quickly, ripping open the chips and devouring them. Keith can’t remember the last time he ate real food; he’d been living off of disgusting energy drinks until those ran out. Yesterday — or two days ago? — he found a bag of popcorn under his bed and popped it in his microwave. It was slightly stale and made him feel hungrier than before he ate it.

Lance watches Keith scarf down his share of the food and wordlessly passes his cookie to him. Keith pauses with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel’s and gives a small, abashed smile. _Cute_ , Lance thinks. He wishes he had another cookie to give the starved guy.

Lance digs through the picnic basket for a napkin to wipe his salty, chip-crumb coated fingers on. He finishes wiping his fingers clean and looks up to ask Keith if he wants one, only to see Keith wrap his arms around his stomach and moan, falling onto his side.

“You okay?”

Keith grimaces. “I ate too much.”

Lance frowns because Keith definitely didn’t eat too much, at least not by the standards of a healthy twenty-year-old guy having three regular meals a day. But maybe he should have warned Keith not to eat all the food so quickly when he has barely eaten for days, as Lance is guessing is the case.

Lance tosses the trash into the picnic basket and sets it on the floor. He grips Keith’s ankles and repositions him so he is lying fully on the bed and not curled into a ball at the head of it. Lance lies down next to him and Keith opens his eyes when the bed dips. 

“Face the other direction,” Lance says softly, their faces inches apart.

Keith frowns and Lance can tell he’s considering arguing but he ultimately does as Lance says and turns on his other side.

Keith startles when Lance’s hand dips under his tank top.

“Relax. I’m just going to rub your stomach a little to make you feel better.”

Keith does relax, closing his eyes and loosening his tight grip around his abdomen, letting Lance rub small circles around his navel.

“Do you feel better?”

Keith hums. The sharp spikes of pain disappear, only the warmth of Lance’s hand remaining.

Lance is hit with the realization that he’s never had a moment of stillness like this with Keith before. Keith is a strict maintainer of the fuck-buddy etiquette; not long after they come, Keith is ushering Lance out the door. No cuddles, no heart-to-hearts, nada. Obviously. Because they’re just fuck buddies.

Lance soaks in this moment of stillness until his hand tires from its countless rotations.

“Hey, Keith?”

Lance leans over to find Keith fast asleep, mouth open slightly as he breathes. Lance doesn’t let himself think twice before brushing Keith’s hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. 

Lance checks his phone; it’s only 8pm. There is a lamp on Keith’s desk which he turns on before shutting off the overhead light, leaving enough light to see by but not enough to disturb Keith’s sleep. Searching around the room, Lance finds Keith’s dorm key on the desk. He pockets it and grabs the handles of the hamper, tossing the laundry detergent in before quietly opening the door and shutting it behind him. The laundry room is two floors below and Lance hums to himself on the elevator ride down.

Two of the three washers are in use but one of them has ten minutes left before it’s supposed to be put in the dryer, which is good for Lance because Keith has at least two loads of dirty laundry. He stuffs as much of the clothes as he can into the available washer and adds the detergent, sliding his school ID card through the scanner to pay. 

Sixteen minutes of Candy Crush pass by before the owner of the clothes in washer #2 comes to transfer their clothes to the dryer, and Lance hurries to claim the machine before anyone else arrives. When both machines are finished washing the clothes, Lance tosses the two loads into the overly large dryer and pays again.

He has fifty minutes until the dryer is done so he takes the elevator to his room on the fourth floor. Hunk isn’t in the room, probably at the library with Pidge or at his girlfriend Shay’s room down the hall. Lance grabs his shower caddy and heads down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Mindful of the time he has before the dryer finishes, he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth while simultaneously blow-drying his hair. It’s difficult and he hits himself in the head with the dryer twice but he manages.

Lance washes his face and applies moisturizer but that is all he has time for before he returns to his room, slips into a blue t-shirt and grey joggers, and takes the elevator back to the basement to remove Keith’s laundry from the dryer. The clothes are hot and feel good in his hands but Lance doesn’t linger holding them because Keith’s boxers are mixed in with the clothes and it would be really, really weird if he cuddles Keith’s boxers just because they are warm.

The sound of clacking reaches Lance’s ears as soon as he unlocks Keith’s door.

Lance sets the laundry hamper down by the closet, making a mental note to fold the clothes before they wrinkle, and approaches Keith.

“What are you doing up?”

Keith jolts and spins around in his desk chair, acting like a child who has been caught doing something they know they shouldn’t but talking like a teenager who believes their actions are justified and in no need of defending.

“I couldn’t stay asleep. Kept thinking about the deadline.”

Keith doesn’t return his attention to his laptop immediately. He watches Lance, waiting for Lance to say something, maybe to give his approval, which Lance does not.

“You need to sleep.”

Keith nods his head in agreement, fingers twitching toward the keyboard. “Uh-huh. Sure. I will. After I write three pages.”

“No, Keith. Now.”

“But—”

Lance folds his arms, adopting the stern pose and expression he uses on his younger siblings when his parents leave him in charge.

“No ‘buts’. Get your ass in bed.”

Keith frowns and crosses his arms. “I won’t be able to sleep. It will just be a waste of time." 

“You were sleeping just fine when I left.”

Keith opens then closes his mouth, his lips forming a pout as he tries to think of an excuse.

“Keith, you’ll finish this paper. I’ll do everything I can to help, I promise. But you need to get some sleep. You won’t be able to write anything that will impress your professor if you’re sleep-deprived.”

That last point is what tears down Keith’s remaining walls, Lance can see it in the way Keith’s shoulders droop in resignation and he sighs, glancing once more at his screen before saving the file and powering the laptop down.

“Do you have my key?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I borrowed it to do your laundry.”

Keith’s brows furrow in confusion then smooth out as he spots the hamper. A small smile graces his lips and his pretty purple eyes stare kindly into Lance’s.

“Thanks. I don’t know why you’re being so nice after I was kind of an ass the last time you came over,” Keith rubs his hand along the back of his neck, “but I appreciate it. And I’m sorry. For last time. It’s just—”

“This paper, I get it. Don’t worry about it.” Lance smiles reassuringly and Keith’s smile widens before he excuses himself to brush his teeth before bed.

While he’s gone, Lance manages to fold and put away half of the laundry. He dug around for the shirts which were the most important article of clothing to keep wrinkle-free, so he leaves the rest of the laundry be when Keith returns.

Keith glances from the half-empty hamper to Lance. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

Lance scoffs and crosses his arms. “Excuse you, I’m not about to let you ruin all the hard work I put into washing your clothes by letting them sit and get wrinkly.”

Keith opens his mouth but Lance cuts him off. “Up-bup-bup, you definitely would have been living out of your hamper if I didn’t put some of the clothes away, don’t pretend otherwise.”

Keith chuckles and shrugs his shoulders as if to say _”What can you do?”_. _You can fold your clothes, you heathen_ , Lance mentally argues back.

Keith crawls into his bed and pulls the blankets up beneath his chin.

Lance shifts his weight from one hip to the other, his eyes flickering between Keith and the door.

“I’m going to check on you tomorrow, so open the door before my fists make a dent. And you better look well-rested. I’ll send you straight back to bed if I think you turned your laptop on as soon as I left,” Lance threatens.

Keith hums sleepily, signifying his understanding. “You could always stay here to make sure.”

Lance freezes, staring at Keith, who perhaps looks a little tense waiting for his answer, but otherwise is lying comfortably in his bed with his eyes closed.

“Um… okay. Yeah, good idea. Can’t trust you for shit, you take terrible care of yourself,” Lance grumbles as he kicks off his joggers, turns off the light, and slowly pulls the blankets back to slide in behind Keith.

Lance tries to fall asleep, but in the dark and silent room he is too aware of his breathing, too fast and too loud. He needs to relax. Don’t think about sleeping in the same bed as Keith. Don’t think about the warmth of Keith’s body lying in front of him. Or how Keith’s hair smells like apples and spices.

At first it caught Lance off guard. From the moment he choked on his iced green tea seeing Keith Kogane ride down Main Street on a fiery red motorcycle, his stupidly hot fingerless black gloves finally making sense, Lance expected Keith’s shampoo to smell musky, or like whatever scent men’s shampoo was supposed to smell like. It was like an ah-ha moment that first night in Keith’s bed, head pressed into the pillows as Keith fucked him, surrounded by the dual scent of an apple orchard and a blend of sharp-smelling spices. It makes a lot of sense to Lance, Keith smelling both spicy and sweet. 

Keith reaches blindly behind him until his hand connects with Lance’s arm and Lance’s skin tingles where Keith’s fingers trace until he finds Lance’s hand and grabs it, pulling it over himself. 

They’re spooning. Lance is in Keith Kogane’s bed spooning Keith Kogane.

Lance pretends his heart isn’t jack-hammering in his chest as he presses closer against Keith’s back and wraps his arm tighter around Keith’s waist. Keith says nothing, so Lance returns his focus to his breathing, matching his inhales and exhales to Keith’s until he falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am floored by the wonderful response this has gotten, thank you guys so much! The comments and kudos make me so so happy! In gratitude, here is the chapter responsible for most of the tags and the Mature rating ;)

Lance’s phone vibrates aggressively in the pocket of his joggers, which are lying on the floor. It’s loud enough to pull his already waking mind the rest of the way out of dreamland… Or maybe _into_ dreamland, because _Keith fucking Kogane_ is laying halfway across his chest, arms wrapped around him like he’s a body pillow. Lance regrets having to delicately maneuver out from under Keith, but his phone keeps vibrating. If someone is calling him instead of texting, it’s probably urgent.

He has five missed calls from Shiro. 

Shit.

Lance pulls his joggers on and grabs Keith’s key off the desk, stepping outside into the hall and walking to the lounge where he perches on the armrest of the couch before calling Shiro back.

Shiro picks up after the first ring. “Lance?”

Lance puts as much cheer as he can manage at 9am into his voice. “Hey Shiro, what’s up?”

“Did you speak to Keith?”

“Yup. He’s all good. Nothing to worry about.”

“…Really?”

Lance rubs the back of his neck, feeling guilty for lying.

“Well, he’s doing better now. I’m looking after him, don’t worry.”

He hears a relieved sigh from the other end of the line. “If you’re looking after him, I know he’ll be just fine.”

Lance glows at the praise. “Hey, what does Keith like to eat? I need to pick up some food once I get dressed. Any allergies? Foods he doesn’t like?”

“Let me handle the groceries.”

“Oh no, it’s—”

“Too late, I’m already on my way out the door. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“No, Keith’s still sleeping.”

A moment of awkward silence passes before Shiro cautiously says, “You slept over?”

“Um…”

Shiro laughs and the knot of tension in Lance’s stomach unwinds. “It’s none of my business. Thanks for looking after him though. I’ll drop by in an hour with food.”

“Thanks, Shiro.”

“Take good care of my baby cousin, Lance.”

The _or else_ is implied. Lance swallows, gives Shiro his word, and ends the call. 

Keith is still asleep when Lance returns, his arms now wrapped around his pillow, cheek pressed against it instead of Lance’s chest. At some point while Lance was gone, Keith kicked the blanket to the end of the bed. Lance lifts it up and drapes it back over him.

There is nothing to do while Keith sleeps, so Lance finishes folding and putting away the laundry from last night. He then passes the time flipping through the open textbook on Keith’s desk, careful to mark the page it is opened at. He reads about viral replication, which is more fascinating than he expects it to be. The textbook holds his attention until it is drawn away by the vibrating phone in his pocket.

 

_[10:06]_ **I Am (Not) Your Father:**  

_Here_.

 

Lance opens the door and stands just outside the room, pulling the door closed behind him until it rests against his back to ensure he won’t be locked out.

“Hey. Keith still sleeping?”

In answer, Lance opens the door a little so Shiro can see his cousin spread out across the bed, then shuts it almost fully again so their voices don’t wake Sleeping Beauty.

Lance hates himself just a little for not calling Keith that sarcastically.

“Alright,” Shiro passes a small brown bag to Lance. “I picked up bagels from that café down the street. Keith likes cinnamon raisin and I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just got you the same.”

“I love all bagels. Thanks for getting me one.”

Shiro nods and hands him a large reusable canvas bag. “I had some leftover homemade mac ‘n’ cheese, so I packed that, and I also made some stir fry. All Keith has to do is microwave them. There’s also some snacks and fruit; I have to be at the lab soon, otherwise I would have bought more.” 

Shiro sternly points his finger at Lance. “Don’t hesitate to call me when he runs out of food. It’s no problem at all to bring more if you can convince Keith to eat.”

Lance nods. “I’ve got it covered, Shiro.”

Shiro glances at the crack in the doorway. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Lance. I was really concerned, but he’s so stubborn and he hates when I worry about him. I don’t know what you did to get him to listen to you, but I owe you one.”

Lance brushes the words away. “Don’t worry about it. Just doing my friendly duty. You weren’t looking so good there yourself.” 

Lance eyes Shiro up and down. A black polo stretches tight over his torso and biceps, wrinkle-free and untucked over light blue jeans. The uncharacteristic distress he saw on Wednesday afternoon is gone from Shiro’s face, replaced by his familiar clear eyes and gentle smile.

“Yeah. We’re only cousins but Keith is like a brother to me. I visited him a week ago and he already looked awful, so when he stopped answering his phone… He never answered the door either, because he knew I would yell at him to take better care of himself. He can be pretty self-destructive sometimes.”

The door squeaks as it opens behind Lance. A pointy chin lands on his shoulder and when he turns his head to see Keith glaring over it, Lance’s breath catches in his throat. Their faces are so close; if he moved the slightest bit forward his lips would brush Keith’s cheek.

“You talkin’ shit ’bout me, Takashi?”

Shiro grins and steps forward at the same time Lance steps to the side, opening his arms wide and wrapping Keith tightly in his embrace.

“I was expecting you to look a lot worse. Lance must be taking good care of you.”

Keith’s eyes connect with Lance’s over Shiro’s shoulder. “Yeah, he is.”

Lance ducks his head to hide his blush, but his eyes soon lift to take in the sight of a recently woken Keith. The guy’s hair is flattened on the right side of his head and sticking out at all angles on the left. His too-large tank top hangs dangerously off one shoulder, the one with the long white scar running over it which, when Lance asked, Keith told him was from an ATV accident.

Lance pretends it is his hand, not Shiro’s, that ruffles Keith’s hair, messing it up further. His hand, not Shiro’s, that lifts the tank top strap and puts it back in place. He doesn’t realize he spaced out until Shiro’s prosthetic arm claps him on the shoulder and startles him back to reality. He hopes no one noticed that he was gazing longingly at Keith for the past two minutes.

“I have to get to the lab. I’m already a few minutes late. Thanks again, Lance. And Keith, stop worrying everyone and answer your phone.” With a final stern look that dissolves with a parting smile, Shiro departs.

“Here, I can take those,” Keith offers, extending a hand to take the bags Lance is holding.

Lance shakes his head. “I’ve got them. Get inside and put some clothes on.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Keith nibbles his bottom lip and toys with the hem of his tank top, lifting it for Lance to see a strip of skin.

Lance’s eyes widen and he flushes. He pulls himself together enough to glare at Keith who laughs at him as he walks back inside his room.

Lance takes a moment to breathe in a deep lungful of air before shutting the door and trapping himself inside with the seductive sex demon that is Keith Kogane.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees Keith pull out a pair of black sweatpants from the dresser, to his mixed relief and disappointment. Meanwhile, Lance puts the appropriate food in the fridge, leaving the rest in the canvas bag which he sets down on the floor beside it. He takes one of the bagels from the brown bag then passes the other to Keith. 

Keith tears hungrily into his bagel with his teeth but pauses before taking a second bite. When he does, it’s much smaller and he chews it longer. He still finishes a minute before Lance, and sits at his desk with his arms crossed atop the back of his chair, his chin resting upon them. His normally vibrant violet eyes darken to a deep indigo as they watch Lance lick cream cheese off his index finger.

“Well? I thought you had some big paper to write. Get to it.” Lance covers his chest with his arms, aiming for the look of a ‘strict parent’ and not that of an ‘insecure dude fidgeting under the heavy gaze of his crush.’

Keith smirks and turns around in his desk chair to sit properly and boot up his laptop. He double-clicks on a file to open it, then reaches for the book Lance was reading earlier, along with a notebook which is filled top to bottom with scribbled notes. Clacking keys soon fill the silence.

Lance makes Keith’s bed but then creases it when he lies down, his upper body slightly raised against the pillow and the wall. He occupies himself with his phone, responding to Hunk’s teasing texts about how he didn’t come back to their dorm last night. He’s only texting Hunk, not talking to him face to face, but Lance’s face makes all the same expressions he would if they were speaking in person. 

His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is pressed in a firm line when he hears Keith roll away from the desk. Lance doesn’t look away from his phone until it is pulled out of his hands by Keith, who is leaning over the bed with an expression that sends a jolt to Lance’s lower regions.

“Keith,” Lance’s eyes dart to the phone which Keith is setting on the nightstand then back to Keith’s dark eyes which are focused on him, “what are you doing?”

“I need a little stress relief. I was thinking you could help me.” Keith gets on the bed and swings his leg over Lance’s lap, an all too familiar position.

“Um, what about your paper?”

Keith lowers his body so that his groin aligns with Lance’s. Lance sucks in a breath, causing Keith’s eyes to darken further.

“I was working on it, that’s why I’m stressed. Ten-minute break.” 

Keith dips his head and skims his lips along the pulse point on Lance’s neck.

Lance is a weak, weak man, but he thinks of Shiro relying on him to do what is best for Keith. He thinks of how frantic Keith was last night. He can’t let Keith procrastinate on his paper and become even more stressed.

Lance shoves lightly at Keith’s shoulder, signaling him to get off and Keith obeys, though not without a frown. It deepens when Lance explains his reasons, because Keith knows Lance is right.

“Fine. Then what do you do?”

Lance raises himself up into a sitting position so their eyes are almost level.

“What do I—You mean to handle stress? I usually take a walk with a friend to clear my head.”

“I don’t have time for a walk,” Keith snaps, pushing off the bed and dropping into his desk chair, scowling at his laptop.

Lance walks up behind Keith and rests his hands on Keith’s shoulders. He wracks his brain, thinking of a quick way to relieve stress so Keith can get straight back to writing. But if writing is what makes him stressed, how can he make it better?

Keith hums in delight, pulling Lance’s attention to him and to his hands, which have been mindlessly working out the knots in Keith’s shoulders as he thought.

“Start typing, I have an idea.”

Lance can’t see Keith’s face but he knows the frown has returned; Keith has made it clear he doesn’t enjoy being ordered around. Still, he taps the trackpad to wake his screen up and reads the last paragraph he wrote. His fingers hesitate above the keyboard before tentatively pressing keys, fingers moving quicker as the ideas flow faster.

Lance waits until the typing slows and then stops. He waits a bit longer to see if Keith will figure out what to type next, but Keith’s head drops and he releases a long groan.

Lance digs his thumbs into the muscles on either side of Keith’s spinal column and moves them in opposite circles. Instantly, Keith’s groans of distress change to groans of pleasure and Lance digs his fingers in deeper.

“Come on, keep typing.”

Keith enjoys the massage for a moment longer before tapping his fingers on the desk in thought and beginning to type again. 

Lance removes his hands. 

Keith immediately turns his head around to glare.

“No fair, it’s like I’m getting rewarded for not working.”

“You’re getting help when you’re too stressed to focus. How about this: you write, say, five pages today and I’ll give you a full-body massage tonight.”

Keith purses his lips in thought. “What if I write more than five pages?”

“If you write more, you’ll get an extra prize.”

Keith’s lips curl upwards and his eyes glint dangerously. “What kind of prize?”

Lance keeps his expression blank and shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly while his insides burn under Keith’s gaze. “Write more than five pages and find out.”

Keith pouts but doesn’t press Lance further; Lance can tell the mystery of his special prize motivates Keith more than telling him would. The rest of the morning and early afternoon pass with Keith writing a few paragraphs then stopping to hit his head against the desk. Lance calms him with a shoulder massage or by gently scratching his scalp, weaving his fingers through Keith’s thick mop of hair.

“Do you want mac n’ cheese or stir fry for lunch?” Lance asks, moving towards the fridge. It is two in the afternoon and Lance is starving, so he figures Keith is too.

However, Keith doesn’t give a response, too engrossed in his writing.

“Keith.” 

Lance pokes him in the arm and Keith doesn’t even bother lifting a hand off the keyboard to swat him away. His arm jerks slightly to shake Lance off but he does nothing more; he doesn’t even turn to scowl at Lance.

Lance frowns and waits for Keith to save his work, as he does religiously every few minutes, before shutting the laptop lid. Keith pulls his fingers away out of instinct right before they are crushed.

“Lance,” Keith snaps, and Lance is glad laser-eyes aren’t real because he’d be incinerated by Keith’s harsh gaze.

“It’s time to take a break and have lunch. I’m not letting you return to your unhealthy ways.”

Keith ignores him and lifts the lid to his laptop, waking his screen only to stare at the document for ten seconds before slamming the lid back down with a shout of rage.

He turns his venomous look on Lance. “I lost my train of thought. Fuck you, Lance. I was so close to finishing another page.”

Lance winces. He feels bad, knowing how hard it is to get into a writing groove, and especially how hard it is for Keith, since he’s watched him struggle to stay focused all morning. But Lance knows it’s the right thing to do. He can’t let Keith skip meals whenever he’s on a roll, or else he’ll end up in the same sorry state he was in before Lance intervened.

Keith seems to realize it too, as he sighs and runs his hands down his face. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, dude. Sorry for throwing off your groove.”

Keith looks at him and raises an eyebrow, questioning if that phrasing was intentional. Lance smirks because of fucking course it was.

“I just want to be done already,” Keith groans, sinking down in his chair.

“And you will be. Soon. How many pages did you write?” Lance holds up the containers of mac n’ cheese and stir fry and Keith nods his head at the mac ‘n’ cheese. Lance places it inside the microwave and sets the timer for two minutes.

“Uh… I think three.”

“Two more to go then,” Lance cheers, wiggling from side to side in what is meant to be a dance of encouragement.

Keith quirks his lip in amusement but it fades when he remembers that five is only the goal for today. There are still another five pages to write after that.

“What’s your paper even about?” Lance asks, passing Keith a fork and setting the dish of macaroni in the middle of the bed which has become their makeshift dining room. 

“Viral pathogenesis, or how viruses cause diseases. There was an outbreak of a new disease, Galractis, in Thailand last year, but since it’s so new, little is known about it. My paper is looking at the symptoms, any commonalities among those affected, and whatever other info I can find to create an argument for how the disease develops and spreads.”

“Wait, if no one knows much about this disease, couldn’t you just bullshit this entire paper and your professor would have to accept it? Ow!” Lance scowls at Keith and rubs his arm where Keith pinched him.

“Professor Iverson was part of the team that first discovered this disease. Which makes this harder, because I have to write something new that isn’t a carbon copy of the theories he’s already published, but not too out-there that it’s complete nonsense.”

“Shit, I’m starting to see why you’ve been having so much trouble with this. And you have to write fifteen pages? When I’m guessing there are, what, five sources to look at?”

“Seven, but still. There’s not a lot out there.”

Lance pouts in sympathy. “I wish I could help, but I’m a straight up bio major. I know nothing about this microbio stuff.”

Keith’s smile is soft like melted butter. “You’re helping more than enough as it is.”

Lance briefly returns Keith’s smile before quickly hopping off the bed and setting their forks in the empty dish, shattering what is probably a pivotal moment in their relationship, because he is not ready to confront capital F Feelings. Lance knows he has a crush on Keith, he’s known since he first spotted Keith in a giant lecture class they shared last year, but it’s one thing to fuck and flee and another thing to share soft smiles and start thinking he has a chance at something more.

“I’m gonna wash these. I expect another page written by the time I’m back, Kogane.”

Keith smirks and salutes him and Lance hurriedly departs, taking the elevator to the basement.

He wanders past the laundry room and pushes the swinging door that opens into the kitchen. A bottle of dish soup someone either forgot, or intentionally left as a kind donation to residents who don’t have any, sits next to the faucet. Lance fills the mac ‘n’ cheese bowl with soap and hot water and lets them soften the residue for a few minutes before he dumps the dirty water out and uses his fingers to scrub away the remaining food. Some more soap and scrubbing later, Lance dries the dish and silverware with a paper towel he pulls from the dispenser beside the sink and carries them back to Keith’s room, opting to walk up the few flights of stairs to give himself more time alone to think.

He isn’t in Keith’s way, is he? He knows for a fact Keith wouldn’t fare too well without him forcing the self-destructive guy to take care of himself, but that doesn’t mean Keith wants Lance to. Soon it will be a full twenty-four hours that he spent at Keith’s side. When Keith said Lance is helping more than enough, did he mean too much?

The door is unlocked so Lance steps right in and as he expected, Keith is sitting at his desk and typing like a good student. Keith glances away from his screen for a weighted second to gift Lance with a welcoming smile before returning to his paper.

“That took longer than I thought.”

Not knowing where else to put the dish and forks, Lance positions them on top of the microwave.

Lance doesn’t have a good response and though he doubts Keith will ask, he doesn’t want to explain why he took the stairs, so he answers with a statement of his own.

“Hey, uh, let me know when you can finish this paper without me babysitting you and I’ll clear out.” His chuckle is painfully forced.

Keith’s fingers still on his keyboard. “Oh.”

Lance plays with the blue and yellow friendship bracelet on his wrist, turning it around and around out of nervous habit as he struggles to discern Keith’s tone.

Keith hunches his shoulders towards his laptop, his hair falling across his face, but he doesn’t start typing. Lance bites his lip; he should have waited so he didn’t distract Keith from his work.

“You can leave anytime you want.” Keith’s fingers curl inwards into fists but otherwise he remains completely still and Lance has the oddest thought that Keith is unlikely to move unless he utters the magic words. 

“I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

Keith’s fists clench. “You don’t need to stay just because Shiro asked you to look after me.”

“I’m not.” Lance takes a step closer to Keith, pushing the conviction of his words forward with his movement. “Shiro is the reason I knew you were in a bad spot to begin with, but I wouldn’t have…” Lance swallows the rest of his words.

Keith turns his head, hair whipping with the motion to reveal his eyes, narrow and guarded but also open and searching.

“You wouldn’t have…?”

“Um…” Lance’s eyes shift to the side of Keith’s face then return and can’t look away, trapped by Keith’s penetrating gaze. Feeling vulnerable but unable to lie and unwilling to flee, Lance speaks softly. 

“I wouldn’t have, you know, stayed. This long.”

Lance’s voice raises as he rambles. “Or cleaned your room or done your laundry. I mean, I do the laundry for my friends and stuff when they’re too busy and I look after them if they’re not feeling well, so it’s not like I’m doing anything different than I would have if Shiro hadn’t asked me to check on you.” 

Lance stops talking, getting confused on what point he’s trying to make. He’s sure there is a point, he’s just having some trouble finding it.

“So, we’re friends.” Spoken as a statement, meant as a question.

Lance feels incredibly uncertain about how Keith views their relationship but he speaks his truth. 

“Of course.”

“Do you sleep with all your friends, or am I special?” Keith’s grin is wicked but his eyes don’t match. Still searching, still guarded.

“You’re special.” Lance’s voice comes out soft again but he’s glad that it also sounds strong. His feelings aren’t half-assed.

He waits for Keith’s reaction, whatever it may be, and when it comes, he orders his brain to store the moment in a locked vault of all his favorite memories. He’ll want to recall it until the edges of the memory fray like an oft-held picture. But no picture could capture the fast transition of Keith’s eyes widening and his grin dropping away, or the slow change of that slack-jawed mouth into a sweet smile as those violet eyes crinkle. A picture wouldn’t do justice to the subtle dust of pink across Keith’s cheekbones or recreate the small _oh_ he whispers.

Lance shifts his weight to his other foot. “Yeah. I’m definitely not here because of Shiro.” 

“I’m glad.” Keith’s eyes are bright, no longer guarded.

“You are?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I just said so, didn’t I? You’re not in my way, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stay as long as you like.”

“O-okay. Uh,” Lance rubs the back of his neck. “Does that include staying overnight, or do you want me to sleep in my room and come back in the morning?”

Keith smirks again, taking amusement in Lance’s uncertainty, but his voice is gentle. “What do you want?”

Lance knows what he wants but his words still come across hesitant, lilting up at the end. “To stay?”

“Then stay.” Keith shrugs and turns back to his laptop, moving on from the confession so easily that for once Lance finds himself able to not overthink and second-guess. For now. He knows eventually he’ll want more than these semi-confessions. 

“Fine, I will.” More confident now that he knows Keith’s feelings about their arrangement, Lance accepts Keith’s hospitality like a challenge.

“Great.” Keith wakes his sleeping screen, a smirk on his lips and a short huff of laughter escaping between them.

“Awesome.”

“Fantastic.”

“Terrific!” Lance shouts, signaling the end to their pointless battle of adjectives, or maybe Keith is more mature and decides not to continue, returning his attention to important matters like his research paper.

“Anything I can do while you work?”

“Not really. Actually, can you grab that book over there for me?” Keith points past Lance without looking, aiming in the general direction of the small bookshelf to his left. Lance takes three steps across the room to the bookshelf, wondering whether the book Keith pointed out is obvious or if he’ll need to ask for more specificity. A title, for example, would be useful.

On the top shelf is a glossy hardcover book, its pages marked by a multitude of rainbow sticky tabs.

“This one?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once Keith gets fully into the writing mindset, Lance mumbles that he’s taking the keys and will be back soon. He retrieves his backpack from his room and returns to Keith’s, laying down on his stomach on the bed, propped up on his elbows as he grades tests. Lance’s last final exam was three days ago; the only work he has left is grading the final exams for the biology class he TA’s for.

“Aaand done.” Keith stretches his arms to the ceiling then links his hands behind his head. “Five pages. Five shit pages, but still.”

Lance turns his head towards Keith. “Perfect timing. I was about to make you stop for dinner. Unless,” Lance pauses, waiting for Keith to look at him, “you want your prize first?”

Keith drops his arms back to his sides. “I didn’t write more than five pages though.”

Lance grins as he sits up, shrugging his shoulders. “What can I say, I’m feeling generous.”

“Uh-huh.” Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “So, what’s my prize?”

Lance’s grin widens. He slips off the bed, crawling on his hands and knees to Keith, watching Keith’s eyes widen in realization. 

Lance places his hands onto Keith’s cotton-clad thighs and presses down to lift himself up into a kneeling position. His fingers slide along Keith’s thighs up to the waistband of his sweatpants. Keith’s breathing grows heavier from the gentle touches and building anticipation, and it assures Lance his offered prize is welcome. Lance is glad; whenever Keith invited him over before, they jumped straight to anal or gave each other hand jobs. But Lance has always wanted to feel the weight of Keith on his tongue, taste him, watch the expressions on his face, and see if he’ll make any new sounds.

Lance’s fingers dip into Keith’s waistband and Keith raises his ass off the chair just enough for Lance to pull his sweatpants and boxers down to his ankles. On second thought, Lance pulls them all the way off and he doesn’t have to ask before Keith is spreading his legs wide, making room for Lance to kneel in between them. 

Keith’s cock is half-hard already, flushed pink at the tip and beckoning Lance nearer with the eager pearls of precum beading at the top. Lance makes a show of licking his fingers and palm, smirking as Keith impatiently cants his hips forwards.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Lance promises, voice dropping a few octaves. Keith’s cock twitches inches from his face.

Lance wraps his hand around Keith’s cock and pumps from the base to the tip, rubbing his thumb around the head on every upstroke, collecting the precum. He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the salty, viscous liquid off, holding eye contact the whole time and feeling a burst of warmth shoot through his stomach at the look Keith gives him, eyes half-lidded and darker than outer space.

Lance places his left hand on Keith’s thigh and uses his right to hold Keith’s cock still while he approaches, giving kittenish licks to the head and feeling his own cock twitch from the sound of Keith’s whimpers escaping unbidden from his bitten-shut lips.

“Don’t hold back your sounds, I want to hear you.” Lance gives the order then says no more, mouth stuffed with Keith’s cock.

“ _Shit_. So warm, your mouth is so warm, Lance. _So_ _fucking good_.” 

Keith grips the hair at the top of Lance’s head, fingers clenching tighter to overcome the strong urge to pull Lance’s face closer or push his hips forward.

Lance drags his tongue along the prominent vein on the underside of Keith’s cock, receiving a gasp. He swallows as much as he can without choking then hums, and is awarded with a drawn-out groan.

Beautiful sounds, Keith makes such beautiful sounds. And Keith looks so beautiful, face scrunched up to hold himself back when his stomach muscles clench, face blissed out as he mumbles praises and spits curses and repeats Lance’s name. He tenses up for the last time, shouting out a warning that Lance ignores as he swallows everything Keith gives him.

“Fuck,” Keith pants, eyes remaining closed as he tries to catch his breath, sinking lower in his desk chair until his head rests against the back. 

Lance smiles, proud of his accomplishment of undoing Keith so spectacularly. He stretches his arm to the side to knock the box of tissues off Keith’s nightstand and grabs one, jerking himself until he comes into it with the memory of Keith’s face and voice spurring him along.

When Lance comes down from his high, Keith is still limp in his chair. Lance lets him rest a moment more before pestering him, poking Keith in the leg until he opens his eyes — just barely, haze still clouding them — and looks down at Lance.

“What?”

Lance doesn’t reply and moves to the bed, patting the seat beside him. Keith attempts to glower at him, but is too sated after his orgasm to put much effort into it. It’s easier, just this one time because this definitely won’t become a habit, to blindly follow Lance’s lead.

Keith sits, eyes not moving away from Lance’s as the brunet lifts Keith’s arms to remove his shirt, leaving him fully naked, then directs Keith to lie down on his stomach.

“Lance?”

Lance places his fingertips on Keith’s shoulder blades in answer, pushing firmly into the muscle.

“I promised a full-body massage.”

The tiniest bit of tension in Keith’s body from not knowing what Lance was doing evaporates and a content sigh leaves his lips.

Lance massages from Keith’s shoulders down to the dimples above his ass. Keith’s breathing is even and when Lance looks up, his eyes are closed. Lance lightly scratches his short nails down Keith’s back.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Feels good,” Keith mumbles into the pillow.

“Yeah?” Lance asks, repressing the mischievous tone in his voice so Keith is unprepared for Lance’s hands grabbing handfuls of his round ass.

“Hey,” Keith swats half-heartedly in Lance’s direction, eyes still closed. “Hands above the belt.”

“But it’s a full-body massage,” Lance laughingly argues.

Keith huffs but otherwise does nothing as Lance continues to play with his ass, smoothing his hands over the soft skin, slapping a cheek lightly to watch it jiggle, and spreading the cheeks apart.

“Lance,” Keith warns.

“I assure you, my intentions in suggesting this massage were completely pure.” Lance imagines Keith is rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids. “You just have a really great ass, it’s distracting.”

Keith sighs but his lips quirk to the side. “Open the bottom drawer of my nightstand.”

Lance pauses his ministrations and leans forward to reach the drawer handle, tugging open the drawer to reveal one item.

“Uh…”

“You’re the one who was teasing me. If you’re still planning to stay over tonight, we could have some fun.”

Lance turns his head to see purple eyes glinting back at him. Lance looks back in the drawer and pulls the red butt plug out, opening the second drawer to retrieve the lube. Pouring the lubricant on his fingers and rubbing them together until it’s warm, Lance drags a finger down the crease between Keith’s ass cheeks, reveling in the anticipatory shudder Keith’s body gives him.

He spreads Keith’s pale, round cheeks to see the small pink hole hidden between them and ignores Keith’s command to put a finger in him. He has a better idea.

Lance leaves Keith on the bed and disregards Keith’s indignant shout as he pulls a condom from the nightstand and walks to the desk, digging through its drawers until he finds a pair of scissors. A little handiwork later and Lance returns to the bed with the bottom half of the condom.

He gently cups Keith’s ass, running his palms over the smooth skin before squeezing hard as he knows Keith likes, immediately drawing a moan out of his partner. Lance pulls the firm cheeks apart and breathes warm air on Keith’s pink hole, making the muscles in his hands tense in surprise before relaxing once again. 

After lightly smearing lube on the outside of the condom, Lance lays it over Keith’s hole. Holding the ends of the condom in place with his fingertips, Lance leans forward and dips his tongue inside.

“ _Fuck_ , Lance,” Keith breathes, wobbly rising onto his hands and knees, making it easier for Lance to kneel behind him.

Lance stiffens his tongue and delves in deeper, pushing in then pulling out. He curls his tongue to lick along Keith’s inner walls, Keith’s pants and moans an inspirational soundtrack.

His tongue does get tired eventually, and that’s when he replaces it with two lube-coated fingers, scissoring Keith open wider. When Keith can comfortably accept three fingers, Lance stuffs him with the translucent red butt plug.

Lance kisses the end of the plug then completely ignores that region, pressing down on Keith’s back until he is lying on his stomach again. Lance moves his hands down to the backside of Keith’s thighs and continues his massage as if he never stopped.

“I changed my mind,” Keith grunts, attempting to wiggle his body against the mattress to create some friction for his cock. “I want it now.”

“I’m not done with your massage yet.” Lance smiles with faux-innocence. His smile widens as Keith growls at him.

“I don’t care, just fuck me already.”

Lance runs the backside of his hand up Keith’s thigh to his ass cheek before gliding back down, loving the aggravated and desperate groan Keith releases.

“Come on, Lance.”

“Don’t be impatient,” Lance chides. “This is your reward for finishing your work today. Lay still and relax like a good boy.”

Keith growls at being called a _good boy_ but does as Lance says and stills his hips. His body is tense at first, still horny and needing relief, but gradually relaxes as Lance works his way down, ending with Keith’s feet.

“All right,” Lance stands up, patting Keith on the ass. “Your massage is over. You hungry for dinner?”

Keith hums, expression content and eyes closed. Lance rolls his eyes affectionately. It seems Keith has three states: stressed, horny, or sleepy. Lance leaves him resting on the bed while he removes the stir-fry from the fridge and puts it in the microwave. The microwave vibrates as it cooks, causing the forks in the dish resting atop it to clatter against each other. Lance looks over his shoulder and Keith is still lying down like a lazy lump.

The microwave beeps and Lance removes the food and grabs the forks, one of which Keith plucks out of his hand to impatiently dig in to the stir-fry. Lance is glad he doesn’t have to force Keith to eat. Yay for improvement.

“Your turn to wash the dishes.”

“I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

Lance puts his hands on his hips and purses his lips. “Will you really?”

Keith nods. “You’re welcome.”

Lance sets the dirty dishes on top of the microwave next to Shiro’s clean bowl and frowns. “Why am I thankful?”

Keith smirks, unfurling from his hunched sitting position and resting on his hands behind him, the smooth slope of his stomach displaying his dusty pink nipples and the happy trail leading down from his navel. “Because if I don’t have to leave to clean the dishes, I can stay naked for your viewing pleasure.”

Lance blatantly roves his eyes over Keith’s body. Keith gives him a wolfish grin and falls back to rest on his elbows, uncrossing his legs and spreading his bent knees.

“I’m so glad I had the nerve to approach you that night at the bar,” Lance says vehemently.

Keith’s laugh ripples through his body, genuine and loud and higher-pitched than his voice. Lance smiles just looking at him. He spreads his legs further in invitation and Lance pounces onto the bed, making Keith shriek in surprise then laughter as Lance tickles his sides.

“Stop…L-Lance, st — haha! — stop, seri-seriously. Lance!”

Lance smiles and raises his weapon-fingers in the air in a demonstration of compliance, watching Keith catch his breath, enjoying the pink in his cheeks and amused sparkle in his amethyst eyes. 

Keith is so beautiful.

Lance impetuously presses his lips against Keith’s, the shocking softness and warmth of them against his own jolting him back to his senses, and he pulls back, covering his mouth with a hand. Keith touches a finger to his lips, brushing over the wetness left behind from Lance’s quick kiss.

Kissing was always a boundary they never crossed. Fuck buddies don’t kiss. It was, like, the number one rule in the book. But Keith and him weren’t fuck buddies anymore. They were an unnamed _thing_ , almost friends with benefits, but not entirely. They were floating together in the unknown, with no rules to guide them.  

Keith’s finger drops away and he stares at Lance in shock, his expression questioning. Lance is too paralyzed with the fear that he fucked things up, moved too quickly, that he can’t answer, so Keith takes charge, not one to repress his emotions.

Keith reaches his hand up, pressing it against the nape of Lance’s neck and using his hold to lead Lance’s lips back to his own. He kisses Lance with a smile, closing his eyes to prevent it from turning into a laugh at Lance’s scared, hopeful expression.

Lance kisses Keith hesitantly, feeling like this is a dream that will evaporate under too much pressure. Keith must understand that he is still adjusting to this new reality, because he responds passionately but never with more pressure than Lance gives.

Given permission, Lance presses harder, sucking on Keith’s bottom lip and pulling a moan from his throat. Lance draws back, taking in the sight of Keith’s plump red lips and soft eyes. Keith shifts the hand on Lance’s neck upwards, gently tangling in his hair.

Fully adjusted to reality, Lance determines not to waste a moment of it. He peppers Keith’s face with kisses, breathing in the sigh Keith releases.

“Lance…”

Lance’s lips follow the slope of Keith’s neck down his chest and stop at his nipple, latching on and toying with it while Keith’s back arches from the ministrations. Keith’s fingers tighten around Lance’s hair and Lance gasps from the pleasurable pain, rolling the nub of Keith’s other nipple between his fingers while his lips continue a downward path.

Lance looks up before moving below Keith’s navel. “Is this still okay?”

Keith cants his chin down to see Lance’s navy eyes, dark like a stormy sea, staring back at him, waiting for permission.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, having lost his voice at some point. Keith’s body burns under Lance’s tentative touches and gentle glances. He’s never been looked at or touched this way in his life.

“Keith,” Lance says reverently, kissing Keith’s sharp hipbones. His nose brushes along Keith’s inner thigh, moving down to the flat red circle between his cheeks.

“Can you pass me—” 

Keith is already ahead of him, tossing him a condom. Lance rolls it on with one hand, using his other to drag the butt plug out of Keith an inch then push it back in half an inch, relentlessly teasing Keith until the man is begging Lance to fill him.

“How are we doing this?” Keith asks, rising onto his elbows in preparation for turning onto all fours if Lance tells him to.

Lance falls into the starry galaxy of Keith’s eyes and is assured that Keith won’t outright reject him, so he finds the confidence to say, “I’d like to be gentle with you, if that’s okay.”

Keith rolls his eyes and reaches a hand up to pull Lance close for a kiss, the lightest pressure placed against his lips.

Lance coats himself in lube and eases in slowly, his cock being thicker than the butt plug and stretching Keith’s hole further. Keith’s hand slips out of Lance’s hair and lands on the bed, bouncing up before falling flat. Lance reaches for it and twines his fingers with Keith’s.

“You’re such a sap,” Keith says, but the softness in his eyes tells Lance he doesn’t mind.

Lance smiles back at him warmly until he bottoms out, then he is moaning alongside Keith.

“You good?”

Keith responds with the thrust of his hips and using their locked hands to pull Lance closer for a deeper kiss, full of teeth and tongue.

Lance slides out then thrusts back in, changing his angle until he finds the sweet spot that sends Keith reeling. He bites Keith’s neck, leaving a mark that will later serve as a reminder that this really happened, that this isn’t a vivid dream. Even without the mark, Lance doubts he could imagine the beautiful deep moan that leaves Keith’s throat when he makes it.

“Keith,” Lance whines, unraveling from the sounds Keith makes, sounds he never heard when they did it quick and dirty.

Lance kisses his lips again, loving that he is allowed to do so, loving the glide of his lips against Keith’s, and thrusts harder, wanting to please Keith as much as he wants to maintain his gentle fucking.

They stay locked together below their waist, at their hands, at their lips, and rock together, climbing up, up, _up_ , until they can’t go any higher and fall back down to Earth.

Lance pulls out, tosses the condom in the trash can beside the desk, and curls against Keith’s side. Keith wraps his arm around Lance’s shoulders and lazily plays with his hair.

Keith’s fingers have stopped twisting in his hair by the time Lance finds the nerve to say something, ready to push for something more concrete than “You’re special” and “I’m glad.” He tilts his head up to see Keith fast asleep.

“Asshole,” Lance whispers, voice a mix of irritation, affection, and disbelief.

But maybe Keith has the right idea, not overthinking things and following his heart rather than getting spun in dizzying circles by his mind. Lance wishes he could do that; it seems less troublesome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I could think about every time I saw Lotor was that tumblr post about white haired villains and the image of Kermit bent over with his ass held open.

The feeling of the heel digging into the outside of Lance’s thigh is uncomfortable, but the leg it is attached to, slung over Lance’s lap like a seatbelt, is a nice weight. It warms him in place of the blankets Keith kicked to the end of the bed in his sleep.

Then it is gone, swung in an arc through the air to the other side of the bed as Keith flips onto his stomach. Lance pouts but knows that, sooner or later, Keith’s body heat will return. The shorter male has tossed and turned all night, constantly changing his position.

It is barely five minutes later when Keith rolls sideways, head partially hanging off the end of the bed while both his legs now rest across Lance’s middle. This position doesn’t last long; Keith shuffles upright, hooking a leg between Lance’s and wrapping an arm across his chest. Keith’s head rests in the crook of his shoulder, warm puffs of air creating goosebumps on Lance’s neck as he breathes out. Lance’s cheek tickles from Keith’s hair brushing against it.

Lance stills, though he knows Keith will inevitably shift positions again regardless of how little he himself moves. Surprisingly, Keith stays in this position for an abnormally long amount of time. The room is dark, but Keith’s movements have kept Lance awake long enough for his eyes to adjust. He figures he can use his night vision to count the number of books on Keith’s bookshelf until he falls asleep, but he’s out of luck. Keith’s possessed body has decided to keep him awake through constant motion.

Keith starts to move again.

“Oh no you don’t,” Lance mutters, turning on his side and wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist to hold him still. Keith’s shifting stops.

Lance huffs a laugh and shuffles closer, pressing his chest to Keith’s back. Keith is warm. Lance falls asleep.

*

“Keith. Hey, Keith. Wake up.”

Keith grumbles unintelligible words but refuses to open his eyes or otherwise respond to Lance’s badgering. Lance briefly considers giving him a wet willy but doesn’t want to get punched in the face so he rethinks that plan. 

“Come on, Keith. If you don’t hurry we’re going to be late.”

“For what?” At least that’s what Lance assumes he mumbles into the pillow.

“Brunch with my friends. It’s a Saturday tradition.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

Lance wishes Keith would open his eyes so he would see the next level puppy-dog eyes Lance is giving him.

“I want you to meet them.”

“Lance, I need to write—”

“Your paper. Believe me, I know. But think about the time you’ll save by eating brunch instead of breakfast and lunch separately. Honestly, I’m doing you a huge favor. And my friends want to meet you. Actually, my friend Pidge would probably be interested in your paper. She’s—”

“Wait.” Keith shoots up in bed, narrowly avoiding conking Lance with his head. “Pidge, as in, Pidge _Holt_?”

“Uh, yeah?” 

Lance isn’t sure how Pidge is the selling point, he figured food would be; but he’s not going to question anything when Keith is tripping out of bed, grabbing his shower caddy and towel, and darting out the door, yelling that he’ll be back soon and not to leave without him.

Hunk and Pidge are sitting at their usual table beside the window, and Pidge already has six empty cream containers and four packets of sugar scattered around her coffee mug. Lance does the math; she must be on her third cup. Not of the day; hell no, only since arriving at the diner. 

Keith is quiet behind him, and Lance considers grabbing his hand and leading him to meet his friends but isn’t sure if they are there yet. Actually, he doesn’t know where they are, since they haven’t spoken about last night. Actions are one thing, but Lance also needs words. He doesn’t want to mess anything up so until they talk he’ll follow Keith’s lead. But the uncertainty is crippling him, making him second-guess every movement. Does he hold the door of the diner open for Keith? Pull out his chair? No, definitely not. Keith isn’t the kind of guy to want those things; that, at least, he knows.

“Lance?”

Keith nudges him and he rocks slightly. Pidge and Hunk are staring at him, amused and concerned, as he stands in front of their table.

“Uh… Keith, these are my friends, Pidge and Hunk.” Lance clears his throat. “And this is Keith—”

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” Pidge intercepts, reaching out her hand to shake with Keith’s and saving Lance from having to think of an introduction for him. Fuck buddy turned buddy he fucks? Boyfriend in the making? He’s at a loss.

“Hey man,” Hunk greets, reaching across the table to offer Keith his hand. Lance realizes he is blocking Keith from sitting down, so he pulls out the chair across from Hunk and sits.

“Have you guys ordered yet?”

“No. We were waiting on you, as usual.” Pidge crosses her arms but she isn’t really upset. She knows he’ll always run about ten minutes late, and Lance knows she purposely arrives fifteen minutes early so she can drink at least three cups of morning coffee before he can cut her off.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Keith smiles apologetically. “Lance tried to get me out of bed earlier but I can be stubborn when I first wake up.”

“Just when you’ve first woken up?” Lance teases, laughing at the scowl Keith gives him.

“Lance came over to wake you up?”

Of course Pidge would latch onto that information. Lance keeps his lips sealed, letting Keith answer her question.

“No, he slept over.”

Someone needs to tell Pidge that her grin is creepy; she is smiling over the rim of her coffee mug at him and he sinks into his seat.

“Oh, uh,” Keith glances down at him with an insecure frown. “Sorry, I figured if you invited me to get brunch with your friends, they already knew.”

Lance hurriedly sits up in his seat so he is eye level with Keith. “No, it’s fine. I’m not, like, embarrassed or anything. I just, I guess I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“How about that you slept over Keith Kogane’s place last night?” Pidge rolls her eyes.

“You know who I am?” Keith’s look of surprise is mirrored by Pidge’s.

“Of course. The three of us were in your Bio 252 course.”

“That was a giant lecture.”

Lance grips the edge of his seat, watching Keith’s confusion lead them straight into Pidge’s trap and not being able to stop it.

Pidge grins at Lance, her glasses reflecting the sunlight slanting through the window and giving her that evil glasses glint seen in anime, to let him know she has his pending relationship in her hands before she focuses back on Keith. 

“You were second best in the class, after me. I notice things like that.” 

Lance releases the breath he was holding.

Before Keith can ask the next question, Pidge answers it. “Shiro left his gradebook open once when Lance was getting extra help. I happened to glance at it.”

“Oh, is that how you know Shiro?”

Lance smiles and responds in the affirmative because the revelation that he needed extra help in that two hundred-level course is easier to admit than that he constantly ranted to Pidge and Hunk about how attractive and mysterious the guy who sat in the fourth row of the lecture hall, a.k.a Keith, was.

The conversation is momentarily paused when a waiter comes by to take their order: black tea and an omelet without onions for Keith, breakfast sandwiches for Lance and Hunk, and vanilla yogurt with homemade granola for Pidge.

“Hey Pidge, you’re interested in diseases and stuff, right?” Lance asks before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“In an academic sense, yes. Why?”

Lance nods his head towards Keith as he chews and swallows. “This guy is working on a paper about some new disease. Galasis?”

“Galractis,” Keith corrects.

“I’ve heard of it,” Pidge asserts. “You’re writing a paper on it? How? They don’t even know how it originated.” Pidge pushes her yogurt aside and leans across the table, giving her full focus to Keith.

“Actually,” Keith says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I was wondering if I could run my theories past you. I read the paper you submitted to the department’s monthly newsletter on manipulating the _Wolbachia_ endosymbionts in mosquitoes and it’s a genius idea. I can’t believe this,” he says, gesturing to the diner, “is how I meet you. I thought I would be forced to attend the department’s socials for the chance to talk to you.”

“Are you serious? I came to your presentation at the undergraduate research conference last semester but had to leave early because of a family emergency. I still have the notebook I took notes in. Can I ask you my questions sometime?”

“Sure, if I can do the same.”

“Deal.”

Lance looks between the two of them in shock. “Wow, who knew you were such a nerd, Keith?”

What Lance suspects to be a maroon Doc Martens boot kicks him in the shin.

Hunk stares at him in concern as he shouts and jumps in his seat but Pidge and Keith ignore him.

“When do you want to go over your theories?”

“Uh, are you free today? This paper is kinda due in four days.”

“That’s fine.” Pidge waves her hand to show the short notice doesn’t bother her. “I finished my last final paper this morning, hence all the coffee.”

“You’re always drinking coffee; that’s why you’re so short,” Lance mutters.

“Ow!” He yells as a faded grey pair of Converse with a green cat drawn on the heel of the left sneaker kicks his calf.

Hunk pulls Lance into a conversation since Keith and Pidge are in their own world discussing theories, and they stay broken into pairs for the rest of brunch. When they return to their dorm, Pidge and Keith say goodbye to them on the second floor. Hunk and Lance take the elevator up to their room on the fourth floor.

“Come on, man. Cheer up,” Hunk says, lightly jostling Lance’s shoulder before unlocking their door and stepping inside. “The sooner Keith finishes his paper, the sooner you can ask him out on a date.”

“It’s not that simple.” 

Lance flops dramatically onto his navy bedspread and plants his face in his space cowboys printed pillowcase.

“Actually, it is.”

Lance turns his head so he can see Hunk, but his mouth is still half-pressed into his pillow, making his words sound even softer than they are. “What if he doesn’t like me like that?”

Hunk stares at him incredulously. “Did you not notice how close you guys were sitting at the diner? His arm was pressed against yours; it was like one limb. Keith doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to comfortably brush up against just anyone, and he definitely didn’t look uncomfortable.”

“…Yeah?” 

Lance wants to believe Hunk, but he’s fallen for people before who acted chummy up until something better came along. *Cough* _Nyma_ *cough*.

“There’s only one way for you to find out for sure. Ask. Him. Out.”

Lance sighs but knows he’ll listen to Hunk. He did walk up to Keith at the bar and buy him a drink, and look at how that turned out. Sure, Keith only kept him around for the sex, but he’s certain they’ve upgraded to friends with benefits now. That’s a far step up from fuck-buddies. 

Right?

Yeah, after Keith finishes his paper, Lance will ask him out. He reaches over the side of his bed and grabs his backpack, pulling out his laptop and powering it up. He finished grading his students’ exams on Friday. All he has left to do is submit them to his professor. He sends an email to ask about delivering them tomorrow morning. Once that is done, he scrolls mindlessly through Tumblr, occasionally bursting into laughter and disturbing Hunk’s studying. He easily loses track of time and when he cranes his neck to see his alarm clock, it reads 6:13pm.

Pidge, no doubt, would have stopped by their room after hanging out with Keith to tease him about his crush, praise Keith’s likeminded brilliance, or both. Since she hasn’t stopped by, Lance can assume they are still hanging out, even though it’s been hours. He doubts Keith or Pidge in their theorizing paradise have stopped to consider food. 

“Hey Hunk, want to make dinner with me?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty hungry. Does Keith like lasagna?”

Lance splutters. Hunk lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, Lance. You wouldn’t suggest making dinner unless it was so you could brag to Keith that you made it. Best friends since high school, man. Nothing gets past me.”

With two bowls of lasagna in his hands, Lance takes the elevator down to Keith’s floor. Pidge is chatting animatedly with Keith in his doorway, her coat folded over her arms, and Lance can only imagine how long they’ve been saying goodbye for, slowly edging towards the door but stopping as they talk for a few minutes more before taking another step.

Keith, though not unexpressive, doesn’t smile often — or maybe it’s that he has had little reason to smile during finals week — but his enthusiasm matches Pidge’s, and it makes Lance smile himself, seeing his best friend and his new friend hitting it off.

“That’s my cue to go,” Pidge says when she spots him a few feet away. “Ooh, is that lasagna?”

“Yup. Hunk said he’ll wait for you before he starts eating, but…”

“I get it, I’m going,” Pidge huffs. “Don’t forget to send me this paper when you finish, Keith. And text me anytime if you need someone to talk ideas out with.”

“Thanks, Pidge.” Keith smiles in that soft, heart-melting way he does, and Lance feels a spike of jealousy to have to share that smile with the rest of the world. He knows rationally that smile doesn’t belong to him; Shiro has been on the receiving end of that smile a million times, he’s sure. But he doesn’t want to share it with anyone else, even one of his best friends.

Pidge waves goodbye and hurries towards the staircase, not trusting the elevator to get her to Hunk and Lance’s room quick enough before the lasagna is gone.

“That for me?” Keith points at one of the bowls in Lance’s hands.

“Could be,” Lance shrugs. “Depends on what you’re willing to trade for it.”

Keith plants a soft kiss on his cheek and uses Lance’s momentary shock to grab one of the bowls.

“Thanks for the food,” Keith calls as he enters his room, leaving the door open for Lance to follow. When Lance returns to his senses, he joins Keith cross-legged on the bed.

Keith scoops a bite into the air, holding one hand beneath the fork in case anything drops while he blows on the lasagna to cool it down.

Keith looks up at Lance who has been watching him. “I swear to God, if you make some comment about how you wish I was blowing something else—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey! I am a gentleman!” Lance protests passionately. He had been thinking about how cute Keith looked, his lips pushed out as he blew softly to cool his food. No inappropriate thoughts at all, surprisingly. 

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Keith.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Who was it that turned a massage into a happy ending?”

Lance has no comeback to that so he stuffs his mouth full of cheesy pasta and shrugs his shoulders.

“So, you and Pidge hit it off.”

Keith’s face lights up at the mention of Pidge. “She’s so smart, I can’t believe you’re best friends with her.” Lance isn’t sure if that’s an insult or a compliment on his good fortune in friends.

“Did talking to her help you with your paper?”

“Well,” Keith spins his fork in circles to gather the stringy cheese. “We got sidetracked a lot, but I definitely have a more focused idea for the rest of my paper.”

Keith certainly seems more focused; he pounds out two pages before Lance drags him to bed.

Like the night before, Keith shifts incessantly, rolling from one side to the other before landing on his back with an arm flung over his eyes. This time he is awake, judging by the small irritated huffs he periodically makes.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Lance mumbles, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist to try and hold him in place.

“I can’t sleep,” Keith grits out between clenched teeth. His voice sounds wrong, distressed, and that pulls Lance out of his sleepy stupor. 

“My mind keeps spinning and I hate it. There are only three days left, Lance. God, maybe I should buy some cigarettes. Those calm people down, right? I try to get my mind to clear so I can fall asleep but all I’ve been thinking about is ‘What if I punch the wall until my knuckles bleed? Will the pain clear my head so I can sleep?’”

Lance remains silent, not knowing whether Keith just needs to vent or is looking for a response. If it’s the latter, he’s not sure what to say.

“Fuck, that sounds fucked up. I’m fucked up. Forget I said anything. Good night.”

“Keith?” Lance nudges Keith but gets no response. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re just stressed about your paper, but you’ll finish in time. You only have, what, three pages left?”

“Then I need to edit. The entire paper is shit, Lance. God, how could I forget how long editing will take,” Keith moans, pressing his fists against his eyes.

“Hey,” Lance calls as Keith slides out of bed and powers on his laptop. “Keith, come on. Finish it in the morning. You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to finish this paper.”

“Keith.” Lance doesn’t care about leaving the warmth of the bed. He walks up behind Keith and rubs his tense shoulders. “Come back to bed. We’ve been over this; you need to sleep if you want to write well.”

“No,” Keith snaps, shaking Lance’s hands off and turning to glare at him with bloodshot eyes. “ _You’ve_ been over this. You keep pulling me away from my work and now I’m behind. I’ll be lucky to hand in a decent first draft.”

“Keith…” Lance’s hand reaches for him again but Keith steps backwards, knocking into the desk behind him.

“No! Just leave me alone. Go back to bed, Lance.”

Lance holds his ground. “I won’t. I told you I’d help you finish this paper.”

“Help? What did you ever do to help? I would be finished by now if you hadn’t kept bothering me,” Keith spits venomously.

Lance steps backwards as if he had been slapped.

“Bothering you?!” Lance doesn’t care that when he shouts his voice rises in pitch and is probably waking the students sleeping in the rooms on either side of Keith’s. Because really? Keith is claiming that he’s been a bother this whole time? What happened to him “helping more than enough” and “staying as long as he likes”?

“Yes, bothering me.” Keith’s glare dissolves into a wide-eyed look of panic. “What the hell was I thinking, letting you drag me to brunch today? Or going to bed at ten fucking o’clock last night? Shit, I’ve lost so much fucking time.” 

Keith slouches forward and fists his hair. “I’m not going to finish.”

“Keith, you will, just breathe—”

“No! I’m not listening to you anymore. Leave me the fuck alone, Lance.” 

Keith straightens up and balls his shaking hands into fists at his sides.

“Get out!” He shouts when Lance doesn’t move.

Lance is furious, he can’t even find the words to yell at Keith. He thought things had changed between them, that they were at least friends, but once again Keith kicks him out when he has no more use for him. He feels like a used condom, needed until he fulfills his purpose and then tossed in the trash. He hates that Keith made him compare himself to a used condom. 

But he doesn’t hate Keith. Even as he holds onto his fury to keep the incoming flood of tears at bay, Lance can’t help but feel concern for Keith, who pushes everyone away when everything becomes too much. Lashing out when he’s tired or stressed isn’t okay, and Lance won’t be a punching bag for Keith’s frustrations, but if Keith will just stop pushing him away and pushing himself so hard, Lance could help him.

Whether it’s the cute Keith who wakes up with wild bedhead, or the crazed Keith who hasn’t slept in a few days doesn’t matter; Lance wants to take care of him. He knows Keith won’t take care of himself.

It isn’t until after he’s cried his eyes out in Hunk’s arms that he remembers this though. Right now, he’s outraged and heartbroken. Lance grabs his sneakers by Keith’s door and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him when he really wants to slam it, but cognizant of the fact that it would annoy the sleeping students more than Keith. At least one of them shows concern for other people.

*

Once the door shuts behind Lance, Keith stumbles, holding himself upright against his desk. He slumps into his chair and opens his essay. 

He can do this. He has three pages left to write and knows where he’s going after talking with Pidge. It’s all a matter of threading the words together in a coherent manner. It doesn’t even need to be coherent; he’ll fix it when he edits. First, he needs to put words onto the page.

A paragraph in, Keith’s groin tingles but he ignores it and types another sentence. He won’t allow himself to indulge; no longer will he be conditioned like Pavlov’s dog to the stimulus of stress. Having someone to talk to or relax him with a massage when he gets stuck sure would be nice though. 

Keith rubs a hand down his face, releases a heavy sigh, then types another paragraph. His body feels uncomfortably warm and a headache is building behind his eyes. A short nap would do him wonders but he can’t afford that luxury.

Two pages left. Keith wishes he had coffee or an energy drink but no such luck. He could buy a soda from the vending machines in the basement but his crash from the sugar spike might be worse than suffering through his weary state. 

Hours pass with Keith alternating between staring at the document, his mind blanking on what to write, then rebooting as he types a few sentences. Backspace. Retype. Highlight then erase the entire sentence because what the hell is he trying to say? Write some more. Stare tiredly at the document some more.

One page left. The sunlight creeping through his window freezes his hands. It is no longer night. The imagined comfort of endless dark hours is gone and the world is beginning to wake around him. He can hear doors opening in the hall as students head to the showers or out to the dining halls for breakfast. Time is still moving forward; the ever-increasing brightness of the sun is proof. Keith feels like he is sitting at the bottom of an hourglass, suffocating under the quickly falling sand.

He pushes away from his desk and lies down on the floor. It isn’t comfortable but that is the point; he can’t afford to fall asleep. For a minute, maybe five who really knows, he allows himself to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. He’s almost finished with the rough draft. One page left to write.

From his spot on the floor, Keith hears footsteps in the hall. They stop outside his room and Keith turns his head to see someone’s shadow under his door. The person doesn’t knock but something thumps against the ground and soon the footsteps continue down the hall. 

Slightly curious, but mostly wanting an excuse to move around, Keith struggles to his feet and opens his door. He looks both ways down the hall and as he expected, no one is there anymore. However, a brown bag rests against his doorway. Keith carries it to his desk and opens it up. Inside is a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese, a fruit cup, an iced black coffee, and a water bottle.

Keith frowns in confusion and guilt; he treated Lance like shit, why is he still looking after him?  

The food and caffeine monumentally improve his mood and it is like Lance imbued the food with his essence because try as Keith might to focus on his paper, he hears Lance’s voice in his head, telling him he’ll feel better if he takes a shower. The voice is right. With clean skin, fresh clothes, and food circling through his digestive tract, he writes the rest of his paper in an hour.

The relief doesn’t last because editing is a fresh new hell. What point is he trying to make? Is he repeating himself or is that sentence necessary to clarify his previous one? Is he using too many commas? No, there can never be enough commas.

God, do his eyes burn from lack of sleep. But he still has eight pages left to edit. And then he has to reread everything again, because what if his edits actually made things worse?

Footsteps come down the hallway, but Keith pays them no mind until they pause outside his door. Keith stops rereading the same sentence he has been for the past three minutes and bolts to the door, opening it wide to reveal a surprised, embarrassed, and wary Lance crouching down to deliver a brown paper bag.

Keith knows he has to apologize to Lance, but seeing him so suddenly erases the half-formed apology he was crafting in between editing and what he says instead is, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Lance’s jaw clenches and he stands up, but before he can say anything Keith cuts him off.

“Wait! Shit, that’s not what I meant to say. I just meant, what are you doing here? Why are you bringing me food when I treated you like shit?”

Lance’s eyes thaw with the cleared up misunderstanding. “Because I know you didn’t mean it. You were overtired and anxious. Which doesn’t mean I forgive you, just that I understand.”

“I’ll make it up to you somehow,” Keith promises.

Lance raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Oh? And how do you plan to do that?”

Keith helplessly shrugs his shoulders, not knowing exactly how, just knowing he’ll do whatever Lance asks, which he tells him.

Lance hums in thought. “How about… going on a date with me?”

Keith’s eyes widen before he schools his expression into something hopefully neutral, though he’s sure a blush is working its way across his cheeks.

“Why would you waste it on something stupid like that? If you had just asked, I would have said yes.”

Lance grins broadly but doesn’t move forward for an embrace, and Keith knows it’s his fault for constantly putting up barriers. It’s something he realized at god knows what hour this morning that he’ll have to work on if he wants to give a relationship with Lance a decent shot.

“Want to come in?”

“You sure I won’t be a _bother_?” 

Keith takes Lance’s hand and leads him into the room, apologizing with the gentleness of his touch and the softness in his eyes.

“I’ve learned over the past few hours that you’re the good kind of bother.”

They settle on Keith’s bed and share the turkey sub Lance brought, and then Lance takes advantage of Keith trying to earn his forgiveness by pulling the shorter male sideways into his lap to cuddle. Keith doesn’t grumble a complaint; he rests his head against Lance’s chest and brings Lance’s hand to his hair, wordlessly commanding him to play with it.

“Your hair smells nice. You showered?”

Keith huffs a laugh. “I kept hearing your stupid voice in my head telling me that I’d feel better once I did.”

Lance hums as he runs his fingers through the black strands.

“And you ate the breakfast I brought you?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Lance cups Keith’s face between his hands, squinting his eyes like Velma without her glasses.

“Then how come you look like shit, dude?”

Keith punches Lance in the shoulder, only hard enough to elicit a laugh, and lays his head back down.

“‘Cause I pulled an all-nighter.”

“Wanna take a nap?”

Keith pushes his head further against Lance’s chest like he’s trying to burrow inside him and leave his problems behind, but he reluctantly sits up.

“I can’t. I’m not done editing.”

“Alright.” Lance drops his arms from around him, allowing Keith to easily move away. 

Keith stares at Lance in shock. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me I need to rest for a bit and then I can edit?”

“Seems like you already know that. Besides, we both know how well you react when I try to get you to do something you don’t agree with.”

Keith sighs. “I’m tired of editing. I want to make out.”

“Yeah?” Lance’s grin is full of self-satisfaction. “Eager for all this again?” 

He waves a hand at himself, but Keith brushes his hand away and makes sure Lance catches his eye-roll before he leans in to kiss him. Lance’s hands trace patterns across his back and they pass half an hour like that, relaying their emotions with the slow movement of their lips.

“I really should finish editing,” Keith regretfully says when they break for air.

“Why don’t you send it to Pidge to edit while we take a nap? Let her find all the things you need to fix, and then all you have to do is fix them.”

That sounded like an amazing idea to Keith. “Pidge won’t mind?”

“Please,” Lance chuckles. “If I explain to her that I need her to edit your paper so I can take a nap with my future boyfriend, I’m sure she would gladly lend a hand.”

Keith frowns in confusion. “That…doesn’t sound like Pidge.”

Lance laughs and pulls Keith in for a single kiss. 

“You’re right. But if she doesn’t edit your paper and you have to do it, then I’ll have nothing to do in the meantime except talk her ear off about how hot you are and what ideas I have for our first date. Besides, she’s really interested in your paper and she’s a quick reader. She won’t mind.”

“If you say so.” 

Keith rolls off the bed and wakes his laptop. His university email has all students and faculty added to the contacts, so he types in ‘Holt’ and confirms with Lance that ‘Katie Holt’ is the right person.

Lance is on his phone, probably threatening Pidge to acquiesce or else face the terrible consequences.

Keith’s phone dings from his nightstand and he unlocks it to see a text message from Pidge.

 _[01:43]_ **Pidge Holt:**  

_SEND ME YOUR PAPER PLEASE GOD I BEG YOU AND KEEP LANCE WITH YOU_

Keith laughs and sends the email. With that taken care of, he turns off the lights and falls into bed next to Lance, wrapping an arm around Lance’s waist and pressing against his back. He’ll take a short nap and then he’ll continue editing his paper. Right now he has something more important to do with his time.

*

ONE MONTH LATER

“To Keith,” Pidge toasts, holding her milkshake in the air, “and his internship with Professor Coran this summer!”

“To Keith!” Lance, Hunk, Shiro, and Allura cheer, while Keith ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Hey, no need to be shy,” Lance says, wrapping an arm around Keith’s waist. “We all know how hard you worked on that paper—”

“Too hard,” Shiro grumbles.

“—you deserve to be proud of your accomplishment. Professor Iverson doesn’t write glowing recommendations for just anyone, babe. And on top of that, you got the internship.”

“Stop calling me that.” Keith glares at Lance, who only laughs and leans back in his chair to avoid Keith’s fist.

“Babe? I think it’s a nice pet name,” Allura, Shiro’s girlfriend, says, trying to soothe the scowling member of the couple seated across from her.

“It’s not exactly a pet name,” Pidge explains. “On their second date they watched Big Hero 6, and Keith bawled his eyes out when Tadashi died. Even though Lance cries when the grandmother in Moana dies—”

“Hey, that’s super sad!” Lance interjects.

“—he won’t stop teasing Keith and calling him a baby, or babe.”

“Oh, Shiro also cries during that movie. Seeing Hiro struggle to move on and thinking he’s alone after Tadashi is gone makes him sob horribly.” Allura rubs her hand along Shiro’s back, whose eyes have started to water just from the memory of the young boy being left on his own.

“This is supposed to be a celebration.” At Hunk’s reminder, Shiro dabs away the wetness in the corners of his eyes and Keith lets Lance wrap his arm around his waist again.

They finish off their milkshakes and four baskets of waffle fries before calling it a night, breaking off into pairs when they return to campus. Shiro and Allura live in the apartment complex a few blocks away so they say their goodbyes at the campus gates and depart. Hunk and Pidge walk with purpose to their dorm, putting distance between Keith and Lance to allow the couple some alone time.

They are almost at Keith’s door when Lance catches Keith’s sleeve to hold him still.

“Hey, so I was thinking. You’ll probably be under a lot of stress at your internship this summer, trying to impress Professor Coran and all, and—”

“Are you trying to ask me in a roundabout way if I want to get an apartment with you this summer?”

Lance smiles nervously and shrugs. “If that’s too fast for you, I get it. It’s just, I’ll be around this summer working on my research with the professor I TA for, so I thought…”

“I was actually going to ask you the same thing tonight. I already found the perfect apartment.”

Lance’s eyes widen in surprise and joy. “Yeah?” 

He wraps his arms loosely around Keith’s neck. “Is it close to campus? Super cheap? Why’s it perfect?”

Keith grins and steps closer to Lance, resting his hands on narrow hips. He raises onto his tippy toes to whisper in Lance’s ear.

“It has thick walls.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments bring me joy, just sayin’


End file.
